The Protectors
by Haiza Tyri
Summary: A new number, a new mission, but this one is different from any Reese and Finch have had before, and their lives will never be the same again. Ultimately AU, more or less. Companion piece to Pickwick12's "The Protector's Daughter."
1. A Cry For Help

**Author's note: This story is a companion piece to Pickwick12's "The Protector's Daughter" ( www. fanfiction s/7917182/1/The_Protectors_Daughter) and is incomplete without it. Hers came first, so I suggest you read it first or alongside this one. They run parallel to each other, but the scenes do not have a one-to-one relationship.  
She is writing the story from her OC's point of view, and I am writing it from Finch and Reese's points of view. In my mind it's set just after "Baby Blue."  
Chapter titles are from _Our Mutual Friend._  
**

* * *

_A Cry For Help_

Finch woke Reese up out of a deep sleep in the grey early morning. "We have a new number, Mr. Reese. It is a schoolchild, aged twelve."

"Another child? Are you getting sentimental, Finch? First a baby, and now a schoolchild?"

"I don't dictate what numbers the Machine gives me, Mr. Reese," Finch said coldly. "Her name is Katherine Russell. She lives with her legal guardians, Judy and Robert Bradley. Attends school at Reginald Middle School, only a few miles from here. Good grades, no reports of delinquency. An entirely normal child, to judge by her records."

"No one is ever entirely normal, Harold," Reese said with a slight mocking dig in his voice. "But you have a point. Children in trouble tend to be runaways, not good students. Anything else? Why does she live with her aunt and uncle? You should track down her parents. This might be about them and not her."

"If I'd needed you to tell me how to do my job, I would have told you when I hired you. I've already traced her parents, or at least her mother. Her name was Jenny Russell, Judy Bradley's best friend. Married once, fifteen years ago, kept her married name and gave it to her daughter, though it doesn't seem that her ex-husband is the child's father, as the father is not listed on the birth certificate. She died ten years ago, leukemia. I'm trying to find information about the ex-husband as well as the father. It shouldn't be too hard to trace her movements thirteen years ago. Looks like she lived in Kansas then. I'll keep digging."

"I'll head to the girl's school, talk to teachers, find out if she's been in any trouble lately. Later I'll go talk to the guardians. What kind of paperwork can you give me?"

"Let me see. A fellow teacher should do it. Here are your teaching credentials with the State of New York."

"Whatever made you think I would need teaching credentials?"

"You would make an admirable teacher, Mr. Reese, particularly in an inner-city high school."

Reese could have sworn Finch was smirking as he left to go find teacherly clothing.


	2. Of An Educational Character

_Of An Educational Character_

"I'm sorry to have intruded before the start of your school day, Mrs. Higden, but I have eight schools to get to today. My name is Harmon. I'm scouting out gifted children for a new camp my employer is opening next summer."

"And your employer is?" the principal of Reginald Middle School asked pleasantly.

"His name is Wren. He's a billionaire philanthropist, somewhat eccentric but deeply interested in giving opportunities to gifted children. We were given the name of…" He looked through some papers. "Katherine Russell."

"Katherine Russell?" She looked through records of her own, on her computer. "She doesn't stand out as one of our particularly gifted students."

"Gifted students don't always stand out, Mrs. Higden. But if you look at her high marks in both English and math, I'm sure you'll see why we think she would fit into this camp we're putting together. Mr. Wren is interested in polymaths. We think she has great potential. Her aunt sent us some of her essays with her application. Now, what I'm doing is looking into her school background, her relationships. We want to be sure she's the kind of child we want in our camp. We can't afford trouble-causers, bullies, and so forth." He smiled charmingly.

* * *

"You certainly have a talent for getting what you want out of people, Mr. Reese."

"It's all in knowing what lie to tell, Finch."

"So no trouble at school, unless the principal was lying to get one of her pupils into your little camp, Mr. Reese."

"Your little camp, Finch. I'm not the eccentric billionaire. She wasn't lying. I'd have known if she was and adjusted my lies accordingly. Katherine still seems fairly normal. A quiet child, with a few friends, the average amount of teasing and bad days, no trouble-causing, few extra curricular activities, rarely goes home with friends—"

"Trouble at home, though," Finch said. "When Mrs. Higden said her aunt wasn't the kind of person to try to get Katherine into a camp like you invented, did you get the feeling she thinks Judy Bradley doesn't like the child very much?"

Reese grinned. "You're going to have to actually start this little camp, Finch. We wouldn't want to disappoint a child, would we? School hasn't quite started yet. I'm going to go talk to one of her teachers. I have permission to pull her from her first class and talk to her. Maybe I can get something out of her. At the very least I can keep an eye on her. Did you find out about her parents?"

"A few things. Thirteen years ago Jenny Russell was recovering from a bad divorce and had moved to Manhattan, Kansas, where she was living under her maiden name, Jenny Thompson, though she ended up keeping her married name. Some lingering sentiment, perhaps. I haven't yet discovered any relationships there, but there was an Army base nearby, in Fort Riley, so— Did you say something, Mr. Reese?"

Reese had sunk down into a chair. "I—no, Finch. Just a…coincidence—"

"Do you have something to tell me, Mr. Reese?"

"Just do your job, Finch, and let me do mine."


	3. Tracking the Bird of Prey

_Tracking the Bird of Prey_

Something in Reese's voice made Finch pause. Do his job? His job was digging in people's pasts. And in his digging in Reese's past, he had not precisely memorized every detail. Where was it he had been stationed in 1999 and 2000?

All it took was a quick look through his files. Fort Riley, Kansas. Reese was stationed there for one year, the same year Jenny Thompson spent there. It was quite a leap from a coincidence of two people in New York City having associations with the area around an Army base to assumption of paternity, and yet where people like himself and Mr. Reese were concerned, Finch had learned never to trust coincidences. Assuming, just for the moment, that Reese had known this woman in Kansas and that he had fathered her child, or, conversely, that it was reasonable to assume that he had even if he hadn't, it would mean Katherine was only important for her identity or her assumed identity. That was quite a few assumptions, and he wasn't going to believe them until he had proof. But if by chance it should be true, it narrowed down (or perhaps vastly widened) the field of who might be a threat to the girl. Anyone from Reese's past, or anyone from his present.

_No._

Elias. It could be Elias.

If it was, it probably meant the girl was in immediate danger. He checked the clock on his computer. Ten minutes past the school bell. Quickly he looked into the security cameras on the streets surrounding the school. After several minutes, he found it.

A girl with long, light red-brown hair was getting out of a car. She hovered for a moment on the sidewalk, then turned toward the school. The car pulled away, and she turned a corner out of sight. The timestamp on the feed said twelve minutes ago. He was about to jump to another camera when she came walking back. Accompanied by a man. Her body posture was stiff, but she walked straight ahead and did not look right or left or behind her. Finch put his hand to his mouth.

He jumped to the next camera, on the next block. They were still walking. Next block, still walking. Next block, they came up to a grey Buick LeSabre with a man leaning against it. Finch stiffened. He recognized that man. The first man pushed the girl into the vehicle. Finch was already writing down the license plate number. Didn't anyone ever notice security cameras on buildings?

"Reese! Mr. Reese, we've made a terrible mistake. They've got her already. Mr. Reese, do you hear me?"

"Who's got her, Finch?"

"Elias, Mr. Reese. Elias has her. Go get in your vehicle, _now, _Mr. Reese!"

He heard the sound of Reese running. "How do you know it's Elias, Finch?"

"I recognized one of the men. I tapped into security feeds. They had her ten minutes ago, Reese."

"I'm at my car. Tell me where to go, Finch!"

"Straight south on Eugene Drive. I'm following their progress on security cameras. They went left. I've lost them—no cameras on that street. No, there! Left on Elizabeth. They've gotten into some heavy traffic. Do you see them, Mr. Reese? Dark grey Buick."

"Not yet! The traffic is bad. No, now I do. Listen, Finch, here's what we're going to do. Get your car and come meet me. We'll tackle them together."

"Mr. Reese, tackling people is not my area."

"Finch, I need another car for this. I have to get them into a side road and force them to stop, and I can't ram them, not with a child in the car. Get the car now, Finch! Oh, and take _The Turn of the Screw_ off the shelf behind you."

"You want me to read Henry James to the kidnappers, Mr. Reese?"

"No, I want you to bring the Smith and Wesson I put behind it."

"Mr. Reese, I am not comfortable with you leaving guns on shelves in my library."

"Finch!"

Somehow Finch found himself driving his new Mercedes station wagon at an entirely unsafe rate of speed through morning traffic with a gun on the seat beside him. He kept giving it worried looks, as if it was going to suddenly blow up. Reese gave him directions as he drove, and it wasn't long before he caught him up in his impressive-looking black SUV.

"Here's the plan, Finch. As soon as they turn off out of this traffic, I'm pulling up around them and forcing their car to the side. You're going to pull up and block them from behind. Get out immediately and keep your gun on the driver. I'll go around and get the girl out. If they try to fight, shoot your man in the knee. We'll get the girl in my vehicle and get away. You'll have to leave your car. It'll be faster."

Finch pressed his lips together and didn't argue. It was a little girl, and it was Elias. He could buy half a dozen of these cars with the cash he had in his pocket. "Acknowledged, Mr. Reese."

It looked like Reese was keeping well enough back that his vehicle wouldn't be noticed by the kidnappers. Finch kept close behind him in the traffic.

"They're turning on Riah Street, Finch. There's construction ahead, and they'll be forced to detour onto Mortimer. That's where we'll make our move."

Finch clutched the steering wheel. "Do you know all the side streets of New York City, Mr. Reese?"

"I'm working on it, Finch."

"And when will the monographs on cigarette ash be forthcoming?"

"What?"

"Never mind. The allusion seems to be wasted on you."

"Finch, are you ready?"

"Yes, Mr. Reese."

Ahead, Reese jerked his SUV into a tiny street and screeched around the grey car, barely missing the cars parked on the left. Finch squeezed his eyes shut and followed, then remembered to open them again before he hit the back of the sedan. Reese was flying out of the SUV; Finch grabbed the little Smith and Wesson, which fit neatly into his hand, wondered inconsequentially if Reese had procured it specifically for him and why on earth hadn't he thought to get a bulletproof vest from Reese's stash? He was out of his car faster than he thought possible, and his gun was aiming itself at the driver leaping from the seat of the grey car.

The second man had pulled the girl from the car, but Reese's gun was already at his head.

"Let her go," Reese said in his whispery, dangerous voice. "We won't do anything to you if you let her go."

The man immediately let go of her. "Fine by me."

The driver didn't seem so sure.

"Deal's off unless you both agree," Reese said. Finch kept his gun on him.

He finally shrugged. "Elias will find her," he said, jerked his head at the other man, and turned and walked away.

Reese carefully approached the girl, who stood staring at them. She was small but had long limbs that promised height. Her hair was long, thick, and a light reddish-brown, her eyes wide and blue, slightly grey in the cloudy October morning, her mouth wide, sensitive, trembling.

"Hello, Katherine. I'm John, and this is my friend Harold. We've come to take you away."

Her eyes went wider. Finch sighed. _Really, Mr. Reese?_ "Can't you see you're only frightening her more, Mr. Reese?" He tried to give her a comforting smile. "I'm Harold, and this is John. You're in danger, I'm afraid, and we're going to take you somewhere safe."

She gave him a wide look that did not seem comforted, but she followed him quietly to the SUV, let Reese put her inside. Finch sat next to her rather than in the front and concealed his gun in his jacket pocket. Katherine held very still and was completely silent, even when he secured her seatbelt for her. After a moment he noticed a hair lying on her coat sleeve. She was staring out of the window, so he reached out two fingers and plucked it from her sleeve, tucked it into his wallet.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked her, himself slightly uncomfortable.

"I'm…fine."

Reese cast back over his shoulder, "Leave her alone, Harold. She's had a tough morning."

Finch rolled his eyes and settled back in his seat. The rest of the drive was silent.


	4. A Riddle Without An Answer

_A Riddle Without An Answer_

As they had pursued the kidnappers, they had discussed what to do with Katherine when they retrieved her. They couldn't deliver her to her guardians, who were probably under surveillance, nor to the police, who were probably riddled with Elias' people. Finch finally decreed that they would take her to the hotel suite he kept perpetually under one of his more obscure identities. Reese had also taken the opportunity to contact Carter and convince her to check up on the guardians. When they had brought the wondering, frightened child safely to the suite and Finch had started to awkwardly explain to her that they weren't the bad guys, Carter rang him back, and he stepped into another room to take it.

"Someday I'm going to find out how you guys do it."

"What about the Bradleys, Detective?"

"They're dead."

"What?"

"Their house blew up. Gas leak. She had just gotten home, and he was off work."

He sat down and rubbed his hand over his short hair.

"Who were they, John?"

"Guardians to a child Elias had kidnapped this morning."

"_What?_" she said in her turn. "What does he want a child for?"

_The only thing he wanted a child for last time was leverage against me,_ he thought dumbly. "You'd better look into ways a gas explosion can be faked, Carter," he said.

"But what about the child?"

"Harold and I retrieved her. She's safe with us."

"Oh _you_ have her? No offense, John, but you and Harold don't exactly have the best track record with children."

"We saved the last two, didn't we?"

"Yes, and left a trail of bodies behind you. Why don't you bring her in here?"

"And leave her to the tender mercy of those of your friends Elias has bought out? I don't think so, Carter. Finch and I are stuck babysitting again for a while, until we get this sorted out."

"This is Elias you're talking about, John! How are you going to sort _him_ out?"

"Same way I always do, Carter."

He hung up and sat for a moment, trying to decide what to do. Finally he got up and went out into the sitting room area, where Finch was still talking to Katherine. "Finch—" He jerked his head back toward the room he'd been in.

Finch gave him one of his looks. "Sit tight, Katherine, Mr. Reese and I need to talk."

Katherine, who had been staring at him, looked quickly away and gave her hands a blank look. Reese didn't entirely trust that blank look. Finch had given him too many meaningfully blank looks for him to trust blank looks any more. He led Finch into the bedroom he'd been in and carefully closed the door.

"Finch, Elias got to her guardians. They're dead."

_"Dead?_ Are you sure?"

"I just got off the phone with Carter. She says it's definitely them."

Finch sighed. "This is definitely not what we had planned."

"How do we tell her they're dead, Finch? They're the only thing she has. Her mother wouldn't have made them her guardians if there had been other, reliable relatives."

"We'll think of something. But, Mr. Reese, before we go out there and tell her, perhaps you'd better tell me what you knew of a certain Jenny Thompson in Manhattan, Kansas."

Reese stared at his nosy little partner and then sighed. "Yes, I knew _a_ Jenny Thompson when I was stationed in Fort Riley. She worked at a bagel shop in Manhattan where I lived. I like bagels. But that doesn't mean it was the same Jenny Thompson. It's a common name."

"Nevertheless, it would be irresponsible to not at least investigate the possibility. Elias is after a child whose mother lived in Manhattan, Kansas, while you lived there and has the same name as someone you knew. It's not unreasonable. Were you romantically involved?"

Reese sighed again. "Yes."

"I have already procured a DNA sample from Katherine and will send it off with my analysis of your DNA."

Anger flared in Reese's grey eyes. "You have my DNA?" Then he shook his head resignedly. "Of course you do. Well, test it all you want, Harold, but she's not my kid. She's more likely to be _yours._ She looks out of her eyes just like you do."

"Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Reese. Now, which of us is going to tell her about her aunt and uncle?"

"It's obvious you expect _me_ to do it."

"You have experience with telling people things."

Reese glared at him and jerked the door open.

Katherine was sitting against the opposite wall, her arms around her knees, staring with wide, blank blue eyes in a stark white face. Reese sighed again, softly. She shouldn't have had to hear it like that. Had she heard them discussing her mother?

"No need to tell her now," he said.

Instinctively he bent down and scooped her up off the floor, held her gently as he carried her into the sitting room, and set her down on the couch. He sat next to her, and she scooted to the other end of the sofa, curled herself up small again, staring straight ahead. There was no way to tell what she was thinking or feeling. She was shell-shocked, and neither he nor Harold knew what to do.

Finch finally said, as if it would help, "I'm going to find out why this happened, and then we're going to stop it from happening again."

As if that would make it all better to a child who had lost her only relatives. Reese's hand went out and touched Katherine's thick hair. The Jenny Thompson he had known had had hair like that, only cut short. "We're going to keep you safe," he said. "I know it doesn't fix anything, but you don't have to be afraid."

She didn't look at either of them but jumped down off the couch and marched down the hallway. For a moment he was afraid she was going to walk right out the door, but instead she looked into the room he had spoken to Finch in and then went into the other one across the hall and closed the door.

Reese and Finch sat silently for a few minutes, not looking at each other. Maybe they should have asked Carter to come here. She was a woman. Maybe she would know what to do. Finally Reese stood up, took out his gun, checked the clip, and put it back.

"I'm going to go get information."

"Wait a minute, Mr. Reese." Finch dug in his pocket and came out with the Smith and Wesson Reese had gotten for him. "You'd better take this."

"You'd better keep it, Harold."

"Not while there's a child in this hotel suite, Mr. Reese, and you'd better not leave weapons littering the place, either."

"If I'd needed you to tell me how to do my job, I would have told you when you hired me, Harold." He took it and left, trying not to slam the door behind him.


	5. In Which A Friendly Move Is Originated

_In Which A Friendly Move Is Originated_

Finch unlocked the suite's safe and took out the laptop he left here for when he didn't have immediate access to his library equipment. It was completely empty of information and software, but it didn't take him long to access his online software. He would take the hard drive with him when he left. That way if anyone ever found this little hideout of his (sometimes he called it a "bolt hole" to himself), they would get nothing useful from the laptop.

While he worked, he took a moment to look around the room. There was nothing here for a child. It would be best for Katherine if she didn't just sit around thinking or crying all day. She needed some distraction, but there was nothing here, not even books. Of course, children these days didn't read, he was given to understand by his "nephew" Will. He picked up his phone and called a number he knew well, the nearest electronics store.

"Yes, I need something that would be suitable for a child of twelve. A game of some sort, something to play alone. No, the cost doesn't matter. An X-Box game would work, yes, but you will have to send an X-Box with it. I would like it delivered. Yes, I have my card ready."

Then he called his lab. "I have a rush job on a DNA analysis. I need a courier to come pick up a DNA sample, and then I want it compared against the DNA on file for Jim Emerson. I need it as soon as possible, today."

"Yes, Dr. Linnet," the lab technician answered. She didn't know he owned the lab, only that he gave the orders, nor that "Jim Emerson" was an entirely fabricated cover for Reese's DNA.

He got back to work. When the courier came, he gave him Katherine's hair in an envelope, and when the electronic delivery came, he investigated the game with a certain amount of astonished disapproval. Shooting zombies? Is that what they thought was appropriate for a twelve-year old? Well, maybe it was these days. He was not exactly acquainted with the minds of twelve-year olds. But did a little girl really want to shoot zombies? He should have gone for books after all. At least he could give her the choice.

She didn't come out of the room she'd gone into for several hours. He was content to work alone, of course, and didn't need a child interrupting him, but it occurred to him after a while that perhaps grieving alone wasn't necessarily good for a child. His own grief had been entirely worked out in solitude, which was just what he needed, and Katherine's instinct seemed to have been to seek solitude as well, but still. Children. They needed adults. Even if it was just him. He was not, he hoped, going to be required to do any comforting hugging. He would leave that to Reese, who had seemed very natural with her earlier. But at least he could be in the room with her. And she had to eat, too. He got up and knocked on her door.

"I'm going to get room service, Katherine. Would you like something?"

After a moment of silence, the door opened and she came out. Clearly she had been sleeping. Her hair was rather wild, and she was rubbing her eyes. He looked her over, wondering if she had cried herself to sleep. Children did that, didn't they? She looked around the sitting room with a bewildered expression.

"Mr. Reese has gone to gather some information."

"OK," was all she said.

He found the room service menu and gave it to her, placed their orders by phone when she had decided. What did people see in hamburgers, anyway? The thought of eating a large chunk of meat was rather revolting.

Katherine returned to the sofa while he ordered and sat on it looking small and lost. Everything familiar in her life was gone, and she was stuck in a strange hotel room with a strange man. That couldn't be a good feeling at all, certainly not safe. There was nothing he could do about it, but maybe he could distract her somewhat. He brought her the X-Box and game he had unpacked and set up.

"Here. I've brought over an X-Box for you to play with." When she stared at him as if he was crazy, he felt he had to explain himself, suddenly understanding why people explained themselves to him so often. "I thought it would be boring for you here."

"OK," she said again. He wondered if it was possible he had found the only child in New York City who didn't like electronic games.

He looked over at her occasionally as she played it. She had a quiet, intent way of getting into it and seemed to take a certain interest in accurately and disgustingly shooting the zombies. For a moment he was struck with the sensation of déjà vu, as if he had seen her here before, quietly shooting bad guys. But no. It was Reese. Reese was the one who quietly shot bad guys. He was suddenly very eager to see the results of the DNA test.

The food came. He tipped the porter, who put the tray on the table in the kitchenette, and closed the door to find Katherine staring hungrily at the food. Well, at least she was going to eat, then. It had been very quiet for quite some time, so he asked, "Is it good?"

"Yeah." She had not said a single unnecessary word all day, which was something he approved of.

"I like you," he said impulsively. "You remind me of John." He'd started to say "Mr. Reese" but remembered that they had introduced themselves as John and Harold, which he rather wished they hadn't done.

"Is that good?"

Good for a little girl to be like John Reese? "Not good or bad. It just is." When she had nearly finished her hamburger, he said, "Do you like to read?"

A gleam came into her eyes. "Yeah," she said, and he knew she meant it intensely.

"Good." He meant it just as much.

The lab called a little while later, while Katherine was playing the game again and he had gone back to work. He walked down to the end of the hall.

"Dr. Linnet, your DNA results are in."

"Thank you. I'll send my associate to pick them up. His name is Roke. Tell him to read the results and report to me."

"Yes, Dr. Linnet."

It had been another impulsive decision, to let Reese learn the truth before he did, not his usual modus operandi. He already knew nearly everything there was to know about Reese, and Reese knew nearly nothing about him (which state of affairs he hoped would continue, though there was little real chance of that, not with Reese's tracking skills). But some things a man like Reese ought to be allowed to find out for himself. He put in a call to his friend.

"Mr. Reese, when you are done doing whatever it is you're doing, would you stop at WatsonCrick Labs on your way back here and pick up some information they have for me? They're expecting a man named Roke."

"Is that what I think it is, Finch?"

"That depends on what you think it is, Mr. Reese."


	6. Some Affairs Of The Heart

_Some Affairs Of The Heart _

Reese had found out very little that was useful. Elias was as good at covering his tracks as Finch. All his people had gone to ground, at least the ones who might be useful, no coincidence, Reese knew. He had a feeling he wasn't going to find out anything until Elias intended he should. But at least he and Finch had one advantage. Elias hadn't managed to keep hold of Katherine. He had lost his bargaining chip, if that was what he had intended her to be.

He found WatsonCrick Labs on his GPS and stopped off at the nondescript building. Finch knew better than to use him as an errand boy, which meant that he wanted Reese to see whatever it was he was picking up. He found his James Roke ID and showed it to the receptionist, who gave him a slim file.

"Dr. Linnet says you're to read this and report back to him."

_Dr. Linnet?_"He doesn't know what it says?"

She raised her shoulders. "That's all I know, Mr. Roke."

If this file had the information he thought it did, that was unexpectedly decent of Finch. He took it out to his Lincoln, which he'd picked up after he ditched the SUV, drove a few blocks to a supermarket parking lot, and parked. He stared at the file and wondered if he had the courage to open it.

At last he did. A DNA report. He combed through all the technical data until he found something in English.

"Probability of Paternity: 96.89%."

He dropped the file on the seat next to him so the papers went sliding every which way and put his trembling hands up over his face. Not possible. No. He couldn't be a father. He couldn't have a daughter who had been living with no knowledge of his existence for twelve years. All the time he was with Jessica, dreaming about having a child with her, all the time he had been doing unspeakable acts for the CIA, a child existed who had his DNA inside her. A piece of himself going through life, completely unaware of each other. It made him feel as if something in him had been severed from him, out floating about in the world, lost and adrift because it had no anchor inside him as it should. How could he have been missing part of himself for so long without ever knowing it?

He remembered her, Jenny Thompson. She'd had light brown hair with a tint of red to it, short and loosely curly. She'd had brown eyes with a hint of gold. She'd had a lovely, sad mouth that seemed to tremble with pain whenever she smiled. He'd never really deluded himself that he loved her, not the way he loved Jessica, but he remembered reaching out to kiss that mouth because he wanted to make it smile for real. Maybe he'd done it all wrong. She probably hadn't needed someone to kiss away her pain, because that didn't work, but just someone to listen and understand. He hadn't known how to do that. He did now.

He bent down and picked up the papers, arranged them neatly in the file, and put his car in gear. His hands were still trembling, but he drove straight to the hotel, parked, and walked in, took the elevator, thought it took an interminably long time but was dreading the door opening and the sight of the long corridor he had to walk down to the rooms where his daughter was unconsciously waiting for him. His stride was firm, though, and he swiped the door open.

Harold was at his computer, of course. Katherine was sitting cross-legged in front of the television with a game controller. It looked like she was shooting things. She swiveled around to look up at him. He hardly dared to look back, so he gave a quick nod.

"Hi, Katherine. Harold, I need to talk to you. Privately." Then he remembered how "privately" had worked out last time. This child needed to know things, maybe the way Finch needed to know things, and was not held back by scruples about eavesdropping any more than he was. He turned his eyes on her. "This time, it's really going to be private," he said softly, and she nodded. He didn't think she was going to defy him.

"Shooting games, Harold?" he said when he had closed the door behind them again. "Really?"

"She seems to like it. I wonder where she gets that." Finch gave him a sharp look.

He held out the file. "Find out for yourself."

Finch opened it and read through it, went slightly pale. "Well," he said softly.

"You're surprised?"

"I really expected it to be a coincidence. Elias is clever enough to leverage a coincidence as well as anything else. What are you going to do?"

"What do you think?"

"May I remind you, Mr. Reese, that in your line of work you can't afford to have...entanglements?"

He thrust his face down close to Finch's. "Don't you try tell me about my line of work, Finch! She's _mine!_ You think I'm going to give her away to some stranger?"

Finch gave him a faint smile. "You surprise me, Mr. Reese. I should not have expected such possessiveness from you about a child you first heard of this morning."

He turned away, shrugged. "Who else does she have? Who else do I have?" he murmured. "I'm—I'm shocked, Harold, really. I never expected it, and I don't know what I'm going to do. But I don't want to lose sight of her. I know that. That's all I know. We can proceed from there." His hands were still shaking. He shoved them in his pockets and received an astonished look from Finch.

"Are you going to tell her?"

"She deserves to know what's happening to her and why. I think she wants to know. Why else would she have snuck out to listen to us earlier?"

Finch tilted his head. "It's your choice, of course, Mr. Reese, but if I were you I'd go slowly. She's already had a lot to deal with today."

Reese raised his eyebrows. "Right. Well…" He took a deep breath and turned and left the room.

Katherine had stopped playing her game and was sitting on the couch with a pillow on her lap, looking scared and inwardly-directed. Her eyes immediately went up when they came down the hall, wide and blue, fixed on them.

"I'm—going to go out for coffee," Finch said. He hardly ever drank coffee. He must be more rattled than Reese had thought.

"Fine." He sat down as Finch left with his awkward gait. Suddenly he had no idea what he was going to say. How did you just tell a little stranger child you had only met a few hours ago that you were her father? Would she even care? What if she had been taught to hate the idea of a father? He took a deep breath. "Katherine, Harold and I have figured out why you're Elias's target."

Her eyes went wide, but she looked slightly confused.

"It's not just that. Do you know what DNA is?"

"Sure." Now she was more confused than ever.

"Did…you know your mom?" he asked hesitantly. This was not going well.

"I don't remember her. She died when I was two, and Aunt Judy took me in because they were friends, even though she didn't want to." She said it flatly, like she had said it and thought it a thousand times, until it almost meant nothing. He rubbed his hand on his face again.

"Right." There was nothing to do but just come out with it, since she had no idea where he was going. "Katherine, a long time ago, your mom was my girlfriend."

"Huh?"

"I was in the army, and she worked at the base where I was stationed. We broke up after I was sent overseas. I didn't hear from her any more, but she was pregnant. "I mean—" he said when she looked only vaguely interested, clearly still not understanding, "—she was pregnant with you. Because of me." Maybe he was telling her more than she needed to know. She was twelve. Maybe she didn't need to know the details. She was looking at him completely blankly. "Harold had a DNA test done, yours and mine. You can see the results."

Maybe the blankness wasn't lack of understanding but too intense understanding. She shook her head immediately, said slightly breathlessly, "It's OK," and got up and ran away back into her bedroom.

Reese sat still where he was. That had not gone well. She already hated him.

No, that was a little overdramatic. She didn't even know him. She'd had an overwhelming day. No child should have to be kidnapped, rescued in a manner as traumatizing as the kidnapping, find out from strangers that her guardians were dead, and then found out that a perfect stranger was the father she had never met, all in a few hours.

Should he go in after her? Maybe she needed to think to herself about it for a while. He had Harold as an example of someone who needed to hide in order to feel safe. He didn't need to start second-guessing her instincts.

He took off his suit jacket and tossed it on the couch, put his gun up on top of a tall armoire, slipped his shoes off, and put his feet up, crossed his arms and bent his head over them. What was he going to do with her? And how was he going to protect her from Elias and from everyone else in his life who would want to hurt him through her?

Eventually he was impelled to get up and go hover by the door of the room she seemed to have chosen for herself. He hesitated, then tapped lightly. "May I come in?" he asked, quietly so he wouldn't wake her if she had gone to sleep.

"OK," came the quiet response.

He opened the door and found her lying on top of the covers, staring up at the ceiling. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to do, but he had to do something. He sat down on the edge of the bed, hoping it would feel kind and not threatening. "Hi, Katherine," he said gently.

"Hi."

At least he knew how to approach a traumatized, self-protective person. Be gentle, be open, demand nothing but allow anything. "Anything you want to say?"

Her eyes flicked to his and then back to the ceiling. After a moment, she said quietly, "You're my dad."

So she had understood. At least that was over. "That's right. It's OK if you're upset." _It's OK if you hate me. I understand._

"I'm not upset." She turned toward him with one of her sudden, intense motions, her eyes deep and intent. "Are you upset?"

He realized suddenly, for the first time, that something deep inside him wanted to know her and that odd core of intensity that hid behind her quiet face. His hand went out to touch her cheek, as if that was the only way he could assure himself that she was real. "Not at all." And she smiled, and her face changed. Her scared mouth went wide and soft, and a light came into her eyes. "That's the first time I've seen you smile," he said. "I like it." And he leaned down impulsively and hugged her, astonishing himself, and she astonished him even more by responding without hesitation. She held him tight around his waist and put her face against his chest. The oddest and most completely unfamiliar warmth came over him, and though he had thought to just give her a quick and accepting hug, instead he just held her and felt her relaxing for the first time and losing her self-protective stiffness.

"Katherine," he said after a moment.

"Yes?"

"Do you want to go murder some zombies with me?"

She giggled into his chest. "No. But…maybe you could…talk to me?"

"Do you want to hear about your mother when I knew her?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"OK. I think I need some coffee, though. You want some?"

She giggled again. "No."

"How about a soda, then?"

"Sure."

* * *

Finch sat in the hotel's café, not drinking coffee, staring at his laptop but not working. What a strange thing it was that not long ago Reese was expressing a wistful desire to have had children, and now he was discovering that he had. Whatever he thought about the situation, he couldn't keep her. Even if they were able to take care of the Elias situation, Reese's very presence would be putting her in danger every day. She would be a target to anyone who had the resources to find out about him. Not to mention that just the schedule of having a child would put a severe cramp in his working style. Finch could just imagine him suddenly giving up a car chase to go pick her up from school or forcing her to join softball to have an excuse to keep surveillance on the coach. No, the situation was absolutely untenable.

And yet when he came slowly back into the suite after what he considered to be more than ample time and saw them sitting on the sofa and laughing madly about something (he had never seen Katherine laugh—and when had he ever seen Reese laugh like that?), he saw a father and a daughter, and he realized he had been trying to convince himself that it really would be better for Katherine to reject Reese as her father, so he wouldn't have to deal with it when she did.

"Everything alright?" he asked, and one of Reese's rare, real smiles was in his eyes.

"It's all right, Harold."


	7. The Whole Case So Far

_The Whole Case So Far_

Reese walked away from Finch and Katherine's conversation, waiting for Carter to pick up.

"John, I told you I'm not doing this anymore. These people and their gas explosion are your problem and the ATF's, not mine."

"Carter, she's my daughter."

"_What?"_

"The girl. Elias had her kidnapped because she's my daughter. She's twelve."

"_You_ have a daughter."

"I never knew about her until today. Harold had a DNA test done this morning."

"For crying out loud! It takes us _weeks_ to have tests run, and he can knock one out in a morning?"

"This is Harold we're talking about."

"Right. Sorry, John. I'm in a bit of shock."

"Welcome to the club. But listen. This kid has been through a lot today. She's kind of…quiet and unresponsive about a lot of things."

"That _would_ be your kid, then."

"Funny, Carter. What I mean to say is, she might need someone to talk to. Someone who knows about kids. A mother."

"I really hope you're not talking about me, John."

"You have a kid."

"I have a _son,_ John."

"But you're…you know. Female."

"I'm a female who joined the Army and then became a homicide detective. I'm not a female who became a kindergarten teacher and then a therapist because I'm so interested in children and their emotions. No, you and Harold have gotten yourselves into this. You can deal with it."

Reese hung up. He supposed it had been a bit much to ask, but he'd had to try. As he came back into the living room, he heard Finch saying, "I'd imagine he wanted to arrange some kind of ransom—your dad's services in exchange for your life or something like that."

"Way to scar her for life, Harold." Didn't the man know anything about what was appropriate to tell a child? And after telling _him_ not to give her too much in one day…

Katherine's eyes went quickly back and forth between them, and she seemed to pull up tight inside herself. "It's OK," she said breathlessly.

Reese's hand went out, tentative but automatic, to her shoulder. "I'm not upset. I just don't want Harold to frighten you."

Harold gave him what could only be a smirk. "I'm glad to see you being fatherly, Mr. Reese."

The thin, tense shoulder under his hand relaxed a little. What kind of home had she grown up in, where the slightest hint of tension in the air made her go all small and frightened? Reese shook his finger in Harold's face. "Well, no more scaring my kid, Harold, or I'll make you play her video game for the next hour. That'll teach you."

A faint smile came out on Katherine's face when he winked at her, and it grew wider when Finch said dryly, "A terrifying punishment indeed. I promise I'll behave."

"Good. Behave while I go have a talk with Fusco. Katherine, keep an eye on him, will you? He gets into the worst trouble when I'm not around."

Finch only shook his head patiently, a long-suffering look on his face. Katherine was biting her lip to keep back a smile. Reese patted her shoulder and left.

* * *

Katherine was a quiet child. Finch was thankful for that. He didn't know what he would do if he had been stuck with a chatterbox. She became quite skillful at her game (should he be disturbed at how easy she found it to slaughter zombies?) and read some magazines he found in an old briefcase. She probably didn't understand a third of what she read in the technology journals, but he could see that she was like him: she would read any words available whether she understood them or not. He was going to have to make up for his mistake with the X-Box and get her some proper reading materials tomorrow. For that matter, she had no clothing except the school uniform she was wearing, which didn't suit her. The skirt was too short. It might be last year's skirt. He was turning up plenty of financial records on the Bradleys. Debt, bad financial decisions, an unbearable mortgage. And then numerous minor police reports, neighbors calling in complaints about loud arguments at all hours of the day and night. He didn't have to image what it was like being a child hiding under the covers in the dark while angry voices filled the air just outside. He knew.

Well, they'd just have to get some clothes. It probably wouldn't be wise to tell her about her house blowing up just yet. Losing her relatives was bad enough. Losing everything that meant something to her was just making it all the worse. Favorite books, an old teddy bear, the box of secret things hidden under the bed—those were just as important as relatives.

Relatives who by all accounts hadn't cared for her. The police reports included several visits by child services, evaluating whether she should be removed from the home. She never had been, but just the fact of the visits was enough to show the situation was far from ideal. On the whole, however, the Bradleys seemed to have been mundane, unhappy people far removed from the circles people like Elias and Reese moved in.

So how had Elias found out about Katherine? He had to have been tracing Reese's past, and if he'd gotten as far back as Fort Riley, it meant he knew Reese's real name. That kind of tracking was something Finch could follow. Prying into people's records always left a trail, unless your fake name was Harold Finch.

Reese returned in time for dinner, and they compared notes as they ate. Fusco was, reluctantly, going to try to find out what contacts Elias had among the police and child services (Finch did not envy him his job nor Reese's ungentle handling of him). Finch was reluctant to talk about the Bradleys before Katherine, so he told Reese what he had found out about Elias' electronic tracking methods. This was the tedious part of the job, where you just had to slog through records and leads until you found something. Finch infinitely preferred it to the more "interesting" parts, like this morning, when he found himself in a car chase with a gun next to him.

Katherine clearly found it all very tedious and was trying to hide her yawns all through dinner. When Reese crammed the pizza box in the garbage, she asked, "Is it OK if I go to sleep?"

It wasn't even eight o'clock, and Reese looked like he thought all children wanted to stay up past midnight. "You want to go to bed?"

Katherine seemed to think she'd done something wrong and reversed her position quickly, but Finch shook his head at Reese.

"You can sleep in one of your father's t-shirts. I'm sorry we weren't able to get your things. We'll see what we can do tomorrow."

Clearly Reese had not given any thought at all to a little girl needing pajamas or other clothing, but he returned Katherine's worried look with a smile. He had brought a small bag of clothing back with him and had something she could wear. Thankfully, the room Katherine had latched onto as her own was not the one with Finch's suits hung neatly in the closet.

"I'll sleep on the couch, Finch," Reese said as Katherine went to change. He lowered his voice. "Do you think I ought to tuck her in?"

"Do you think you ought to?"

"I don't know. I'm still practically a stranger."

"She didn't seem completely averse to you."

He smiled quietly. "No, she didn't."

"Bring her clothes out when you return."

"Her clothes?"

"Yes, her clothes. And her shoes. How else am I to find the right size? Twelve-year-old girls come in many sizes."

Reese smirked and went to tap on Katherine's door. Finch returned to his laptop.

When the clothing came out with Reese, Finch sent them down to be cleaned. He worked for a few more hours, while Reese paced up and down and occasionally threw out some comment or came to look at a minor piece of information Finch had found. He was not well pleased to find his own past as the subject of investigation.

Finch finally said good night, went to his room, prepared for bed with aching limbs, and sank gratefully into the mattress. Not long later he was jolted up out of sleep by a cry. He was out of bed and halfway across the room when he heard the door opposite open and Reese speaking in low, soothing tones. A nightmare, then, and not a new kidnapping attempt. He returned to bed, thankful that if one of them had to be a father, it was Reese. If there was one thing he would be an absolute failure at, it would be making a child feel safe and comforted.


	8. In The Dark

_In The Dark_

Reese had just settled into sleep on the couch when a shriek of terror woke him. He had gun in hand and was down the hallway before his conscious brain had caught up with him. Gun ready, he quietly opened the door to Katherine's room. She was there on the bed, twisted up in the sheets, struggling with her arms against nothing. He set the gun down on the hall table and went in. She was awake by the time he go to the bed, trying to disappear into her pillow. He sat down on the bed.

"Try to stay quiet now. Harold's a heavier sleeper than I am, but his body really needs rest." He began to arrange the sheets and blankets neatly over her, tucking her in again. Now what was he supposed to do?

"Would you like to talk about your nightmare?"

"No."

"OK. I have nightmares too. Sometimes it helps to talk about it." Maybe she didn't even want him there. He couldn't help reaching out to push back the hair stuck to her damp forehead. "Would you rather I left?"

In the faint light from the door he had left open a crack he could see that her eyes were huge, and he could hear her frightened breathing. She'd been kidnapped today. "No—please stay."

It was automatic—it was natural. His body knew what to do, even if his brain hadn't quite caught up yet. He bent down and lifted her up against him, held her gently but firmly, smoothed his hand down her long, tangled hair. "It's OK. You're safe now," he said in his softest, least dangerous voice. "Listen to my breathing and match yours to mine." He breathed the way he had learned to do to calm his heart rate in a dangerous situation. It was amazing what breathing could do. Presently he felt her thin little chest rise and fall with his and her trembling die away, but he didn't release her yet. He had thought he would never feel this sensation, his own child nestled trustingly against him, and yet here he was. He didn't deserve it—it couldn't last—all he could do was hold onto the moment as long as he could, because it would be sure to be taken away, like everything else.


	9. TheFriendlyMoveTakesUp A Strong Position

_The Friendly Move Takes Up A Strong Position_

Finch rose early in the morning. By nature he was someone who could work all night and hardly notice it, but his newly broken body had begun teaching him in the last few years that he could only afford to do that when it was absolutely vital to a case. Now he tried to keep fairly regular hours. Today, however, he got up early because he had shopping to do. He showered, dressed in a neat dark green and grey suit, and supplied himself with his most mundane and normal identity and the credit cards associated with it. Benjamin Rodgers, an investment banker. He had been going to go with the high school history teacher, but what high school history teacher could throw around the kind of money he was going to spend today?

When he went out into the hall, he saw immediately that there was a gun on the hall table. He sighed. Gingerly he took it, made sure the safety was on, slid it into the table's drawer, and wrote a disapproving note in his precise handwriting. "It's in the drawer." Then he took the clothing that had been returned the night before and left the hotel.

His car had been left behind yesterday, but there were a number of boutiques in the streets around the hotel, at least one of which had to be for children. It was unlikely they would be open at this time of the morning, but he was a man with a great deal of money and a very touching story. Across the street he saw a woman unlocking the door of a boutique that had small, brightly colored clothing in the window and hastened across the street.

"Excuse me! Excuse me." He put on a small and slightly sad smile. "I was wondering if you could help me. I need to buy clothing for a little girl."

"I'm sorry, but we're not open yet."

"Please, it's an emergency. Her house burned down yesterday. She has nothing but the school uniform she was wearing."

"Oh, my. Are you her father?"

He smiled sadly again. "Her uncle. Her father died in the fire."

"Oh, my," she said again. "I'm so sorry. Your brother?" She opened the door and held it for him.

"My brother-in-law. Her mother died a few years ago. I suppose I'm her guardian now."

"Well, I'll do what I can for you. Do you know her size? How old is she?"

"She's twelve. I don't know her size, but I brought her uniform. It's a little small for her, but I think the tights fit. She needs everything. The price is no object. It just needs to be…pretty."

The woman smiled. The indulgent uncle of a grieving child: practically a gift from heaven. "I'll show you a number of sizes. Shall I help you match styles?"

"I don't think so, thank you." He could tailor Reese's suits: he could choose clothing for a child.

The woman watched him with a smile with some amusement in it as he seriously looked through the sizes she showed him, chose everything that had something interesting and lovely to it, and nearly cleaned out her section of girls' clothing in those sizes, as well as shoes, jewelry, and hair things. As he selected, she took the items and wrapped them.

"One thing you could help me with," he said at last. "Um…underclothing. Just whatever is…appropriate. As many as you think necessary."

She smiled again. "I can do that for you. Do you know if she's wearing bras yet?"

He felt himself going unaccountably and annoyingly bright red. "I…have no idea."

"I'm sorry to say you'll have to find out, if you're to be her guardian."

"Yes…I…hadn't thought of that."

She took pity on him. "I'll put in a few training bras just in case, and she can choose whether to wear them or not."

"Thank you." _Training bras?_ he thought helplessly. _What are those?_ It was not likely Mr. Reese had any more of an idea than he did. Which meant they would have to ask Katherine. He shied away from that thought and held out his credit card.

"Thank you for letting me barge in on you like this."

"Oh, it's alright. I hope everything turns out for you and…what's your niece's name?"

"Megan," he said immediately.

"For you and Megan, Mr. Rodgers."

"Thank you."

He took the large number of bags across the street to the hotel and asked them to be sent up to his suite, then went back out and down the street to the bookstore he had seen a block away. He went straight into the children's section, resolutely ignoring the tempting science, literature, and technology sections. He approved of this store. It had beautiful books, hardbacks with quality bindings and exquisite illustrations. He slowly and carefully perused the shelves. Since he had no idea what Katherine might like to read, he chose a wide selection of books as much for the beauty of their construction and illustrations as for their subject matter. The cashier, a young woman with spiky black hair, stared at him as he lugged them to the counter.

"Just learning to read, are you?" she asked with a wicked grin.

"They're for my goddaughter. It's her birthday. I've been out of the country and…forgot."

"I'm sure she'll forgive you when she sees these. I'd have died to have a fairy godfather like you when I was a kid."

His eyebrows went up, and she grinned again.

"Hey, you're missing _The Ordinary Princess."_

"The ordinary…what?"

"That was my favorite book. You've got to have it. There's a really beautiful edition that was just reprinted this year. It's the same one I had when I was ten or so. Wait a sec."

She ran to the back of the store and came back with a slim, pink volume that had a picture of a snub-nosed, short-haired girl in a long, wrinkled ball gown on the front.

"Seriously. Take this one."

"Thank you."

* * *

Reese woke with a start. He had been awakened several times in the night by Katherine crying out, but she had been quiet for hours now. He wasn't sure what had awakened him. The door closing? He got up silently from the chair next to Katherine's bed and peered out the bedroom door. No one was there. He slipped out, made a quick patrol of the suite, even glanced into Finch's room. The bed was empty, made neatly. He'd gone out, then. Reese went back across the hall and then saw that his gun was gone from the hall table, replaced by a piece of paper. He picked it up.

"It's in the drawer," it said in painfully neat handwriting.

Reese grinned. The neater Harold's handwriting, the more annoyed he was. He took the gun out of the drawer, put it back on top of the armoire, and returned to Katherine's room. She hadn't moved. He sat back down in the chair and leaned his head against the back.

He'd made a decision, without realizing how it had been made. Last night he'd been in a fatalistic mood, feeling sorry for himself. Everything he had ever had had been taken from him, so did that mean he should just sit quietly and let everything new be taken as well? That was a ridiculous idea, for someone like him, whose basic mode was action and attack. He'd let others control his life and take things from him for far too long. Finch and his "job" had helped him realize that he could be self-determinate again. The CIA didn't run his life, and Elias _certainly_ didn't run his life. It was his life, and he was keeping his kid. He was going to fight for her, and if dying for her was necessary, so be it. If he died, Harold could raise her. His lips curved up at the idea of Harold raising a child. He'd have to come back and haunt him, just to watch. But he had no intention of dying. This was his job.

Reese went back to sleep.

* * *

The bag of books was extraordinarily heavy, and he wished he'd had it sent over. It made his back ache. He carried it up to the suite, however, and set it on a chair in the sitting room. The other bags were just inside the door in the hallway. As he went back to fetch them, he heard Mr. Reese's voice in Katherine's bedroom, and then door opened and he came out. Finch raised his eyebrows at him.

"Did she have more nightmares?"

Reese nodded. "You heard?"

"Only the first. Thank you for taking care of her."

Reese's eyebrows went up. "She's my daughter."

He held up the bags. "And I bought her clothes."

"Good thinking. How did that go over in the shop?"

"I told the woman I was her uncle."

Reese grinned. "Well, well. Maybe you are. She's awake if you want to give them to her, 'Uncle Harold.'"

Finch narrowed his eyes at him and tapped on the door. "Good morning, Katherine. I've bought some things you might need." The door opened, and she stood looking sleepily at him. He held up the bags. "I hope some of it's usable." He had a sudden doubt about his decision to choose them himself instead of letting the woman do it.

She took them and looked into them, and his doubt disappeared with the expression of extreme glee that burst onto her face. Little girls and clothing. He closed the door.

Reese was making coffee. "I hope she didn't keep you up last night."

"No."

"Good. I'm going to take her out for breakfast. You want something?"

"No. I'll get room service. The restaurant in this hotel is very decent."

"You should know. I'm going to change."

Finch set up his laptop on the table. The coffee was nearly done, and he fetched a mug. He'd been drinking more coffee than usual recently, but on this case he had a feeling he was going to need it. He had just set the mug down when he felt arms around his waist, squeezing hard. For a moment he stood and stared down at Katherine, who smiled up at him, and then, tentatively, he put his arm around her.

"Thanks, Harold," she said, and he knew he'd done well.

"You're very welcome, young lady." He had not expected her to hug him, nor had he expected to like it when she did.

"Not bad, Harold," Reese grinned behind him. He was looking his daughter up and down. "That looks far more like her than a school uniform."

Finch moved away from Katherine a little uncomfortably and picked up the bag of books. "I bought a few other things." He gave it to Katherine.

Her eyes widened at how heavy it was. She set it down and opened it, and then she looked as if she was going to cry. Her mouth trembled, and she reached in and touched each one. Fairy godfather, the girl in the bookshop had said.

"Goodness, Harold, you should feed her before you send her into shock." Reese put his hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Would you like to go out for breakfast?"

She looked slightly frightened. No child should have to look frightened to go out to breakfast. "Is it safe?"

Finch said soothingly, "Mr. Reese will keep you within a couple of blocks, and I'll be on the phone at all times. Your father will make sure nothing untoward happens. We don't want you to get stir crazy before all this is over."

"OK," she said softly.

He watched them leave together and then got back to work.


	10. SomebodyBecomesTheSubjectOf A Prediction

_Somebody Becomes The Subject of a Prediction_

Katherine was not one for physical affection, it seemed. Or maybe she just wasn't one for holding hands. Or maybe she still considered him a stranger. He was a stranger. They'd met…yesterday. Weird that it seemed like a thousand days ago, like he'd known this small, pale, large-eyed child as his child for far longer than half a day. But he didn't know her. She had such a quiet, unreadable face—not that that was anything unusual in his experience these days—it was hard to know what was going on in her head, even for a man whose profession depended on being able to read people. What was obvious, though, was that she didn't want her hand held, and his explanation about safety did little to change her mind.

He'd never held a little girl's hand before. It wasn't something he would even have considered before. He kept considering it as they sat at a booth in the diner, looking over their menus, discussing what to eat. A little girl, who belonged to him. What was he supposed to do about that?

"Katherine, we need to talk," he said. "We need to talk about what happens after we take care of making you safe."

"Oh." She did have a quiet face, but he could see the tenseness in her body. It was a tenseness that expected bad news. He wasn't sure what would be good news, and he didn't quite want to look at her. He expected bad news of his own.

"I was wondering how you would feel about staying with me—permanently."

"Oh." She did nothing but stare at him, and he couldn't tell what she thought.

"I know I'm not the greatest dad material, so if you'd rather do something else, I could ask Harold to find a family, or—"

"No—" she interrupted. "I want to stay with you and Harold."

Amid the oddest rush of joy, he laughed inside. _Harold. Of course she wanted to stay with Harold._ "Harold and I don't always live in the same place, but you won't be able to get away from him if you're with me."

There was the beginnings of a smile in her eyes. "OK. Do you want me to keep calling you John?"

She could call him whatever she wanted, but he wondered… He made his voice light. "That's an important question. How about Dad?"

And she answered so easily, as if near strangers asked her to call them _Dad_ all the time. "OK. What about Harold?"

"I have no idea. What do you want to call him?"

She was quiet, thinking. He realized there was jam on her face. He had a sudden picture in his mind of his mother licking her thumb and wiping jam off his squirming little sister's face. He wasn't about to do that. He picked up a napkin as she said in a definitive tone, "Mr. H."

Well, that would work. Familiar, but not _too_ familiar. He'd feared something like "Uncle Harry." He wiped her face and knew instantly that was the wrong thing to do. Her eyes flashed indignantly. But she said nothing, didn't dare, he guessed. Maybe some day she would stop being afraid.

That was why he told her about Elias when she asked and why he was glad she didn't ask too much. She didn't seem frightened as she finished her breakfast, and she didn't resist again when he took her hand as they walked across the street.

* * *

Finch had already been at work for far too long that morning, his body kindly informed him. Some days were like that, where the first couple of hours of sitting felt like days. Sitting was better than standing, but sometimes standing was the only option. Hauling that bag of books earlier had been a very bad idea.

He got up and went to the window, looked out across the city. Once he would have gone out for a run. How he missed running, on days like these, when only an hour or two into his work it was like climbing uphill through deep water. He wasn't getting very far.

With a slight huff of impatience, he returned to the table and picked up his phone. "Detective Carter, have you learned anything?"

"The ATF report should be here any minute," Carter said.

"Will you bring it over when it comes?"

"Now, look, I told you two—"

"I need your help, Detective. I have a little girl whose only relatives were just murdered and who is the target of the biggest criminal boss in the city. Are you going to abandon her, too, because you're annoyed at Mr. Reese?"

Carter sighed. "What do you want, Mr. Finch?"

Finch hesitated. "I need you to look at her and tell me…"

"What?"

"If she needs training bras," he said in a near whisper.

There was a silence and then a sound which he belatedly realized was Carter laughing. Laughing so hard he could hear her gasping for breath. Coldly he waited for her to finish.

"Oh, Harold—"

"Yesterday, Detective Carter, the child lost everything she owned in a fire. She had nothing but a school uniform that was too small for her. She spent the night in one of Mr. Reese's t-shirts. So this morning I bought her clothing, which she seemed to appreciate. But the woman at the store indicated that there were a few items I needed to find out about, and I do not propose to ask Katherine myself. It would be inappropriate. I met her yesterday." He did not mention the books or the fairy godfather remark.

"Alright, alright. I'll come over when the report is ready. But I'm not going to start questioning a twelve-year-old girl about her underclothing. Twelve-year-old girls can be morbidly sensitive about such things. I'll give you my best guess."

"Thank you, Detective." He hung up and gave a slight sigh, unsure whether that had gone better or worse than anticipated. Time for a break.

* * *

Reese had found himself, entirely unexpectedly, curled up on the couch with a book and a little girl leaning against him. It was the most domestic thing that had happened to him in years, a decade, maybe more. Long ago he'd had dreams about this kind of thing, and here it was. Only Harold wasn't _exactly_ what he had envisioned as the other adult in the situation. Tall, slim, blond-haired, and pretty he was not. Not to mention not-female. He scowled into his book to keep from chuckling and tried to concentrate on the story, in case Katherine quizzed him later. Not a bad book, really, though it slightly surprised him that Harold was the one to urge him to read a romance. Adventure-romance, maybe more adventure than romance, but romance nonetheless. He could see Finch reading science fiction, especially the dystopian type, or clever modern French philosophical fiction. Not adventure-romance. Although…there was the time he'd caught him reading _Pride And Prejudice…_ Historical sociology, Harold had called it, but Reese knew from personal experience that it was a romance.

After a while, he became absorbed in the book and forgot about Finch. He was only startled out of it by a sharp voice calling on the other side of the door, "Do you want me to come in or not?"

Finch let Carter in. The detective was obviously curious about Katherine, looking her over thoroughly, like a cop. Katherine looked back at her flatly and seemed neither impressed nor afraid.

"You must be Katherine."

"Yeah," Katherine said.

Carter gave a grin at Reese. "She's too cute to be your kid."

He grinned back. "I thought we wouldn't be seeing you again, Detective."

"Let's just say desperate times call for desperate measures. Your partner here is very persuasive. Anyway, I'm sorry about your aunt and uncle, honey."

"It's OK," Katherine said stiffly.

_It's not OK,_ he wanted to say but didn't, because it was one of those things you say in response to platitudes from a stranger.

"I need to talk to the guys," Carter said. "Would you mind if we talked privately for a few minutes?"

"OK," Katherine said again. She said that a lot. A typical near-teenager's not wanting to talk to an adult, or a fear of expressing herself? She was such a hiding, frightened thing, like a proto-Harold. Also a sucker for surveillance, he thought amusedly. He put his hand out.

"No eavesdropping this time."

The look on her face was a combination of humor, shame, and disquiet as she nodded and went into her bedroom with her book.

"You'd better give that little girl a chance to get to know you, John. She's going to want to, and you can't go hiding from her the way you do from everyone else."

Reese's eyebrows went up, but he nodded.

Carter suddenly grinned at Finch. "She reminds me of you, Harold. She's much more like you than like John. I predict you're going to have yourself a little groupie."

Reese bit his lip and grinned to himself, while Finch just gave Carter his blank, disapproving look. She grinned back.

"I'd say yes, but the smallest size for now," she told Finch, who nodded seriously, took out a little notebook, and wrote it down.

"Thank you, Detective. I appreciate it."

"What?" Reese said, and Finch gave him a blank look.

"Detective Carter has the ATF report," he said, as if small sizes had anything to do with ATF reports.

Carter dug a couple of pieces of paper out of her pocket and handed them to Harold. Reese looked over his shoulder. Highly technical, mostly gibberish, but a few things stood out. Definitely arson, caused by a propellant that was the signature of an arsonist the NYPD was already looking for, a man named Tom Cooper.

"First real lead," Reese said. "I'll get on it." _At last, something to_ do.

"John—" Carter said, then gave up. "Never mind. There's no point in telling you to keep the body count down, is there?"

"My kid, Carter."

She gave a slight smile. "Never thought I'd hear you say something like that."

"I never thought I'd say it. But I'll do _anything_ to keep her safe, so don't talk to me about body counts."

"Just remember that I'm the one how has to clean up after you!" she called after him as he went down the hall to Katherine's door. She shook her head. "See you later, Harold."

Katherine came out and eyed them all, a little warily.

"Nice to meet you, Katherine. I'll see you again some time," Carter said from the door.

"OK," Katherine said.

Carter gave a wave and closed the door behind her.

"I have to go take care of some things," Reese told Katherine, trying to hide how glad he was to have something to do. "Harold will be here if you need anything."

"I know."

He gave her a small smile and left the suite.


	11. A Respected Friend In A New Aspect

_A Respected Friend In A New Aspect _

_Groupie._ Detective Carter was almost as bad as Reese. Whatever else this child was going to be she would not be a _groupie._ Finch glanced over at her, firmly behind her book again (_The Ordinary Princess,_ he had noticed with certain pleasure). She was going to be…a doctor, or a professor, or a sniper (he winced at the last idea).

She'd given him a nickname. He didn't really do nicknames, which was a little odd, given how many aliases he did do, but he'd been unable to deny the gladness that had come when she said she wanted to call him Mr. H. He couldn't remember if Reese had ever actually called him _Mr._ Finch. There was distance and respect in _Mr._ But slightly less in Mr. H., and he liked it. He didn't think she was ever likely to call him _Harold_ with a mocking edge, like Reese.

_Ever?_ He was already thinking of her future in his and Reese's lives? But—

He looked over at her and became slightly alarmed. She had put her book down and was sitting with staring eyes and a white face, a little statue. It was a look he recognized instantly, from having felt it, in the hospital after Nathan died.

"Are you alright, Katherine?" he asked quietly.

She stared. "I'm fine," she said automatically, while a tear escaped and she tried to hide it in her sleeve.

He was automatic too, saying things that had been said to him, not sure she would accept them any more than he had. "It's not your fault, you know—your aunt and uncle."

She was so stiff, trying so hard to pretend the tears weren't there. She didn't want to cry, didn't want to be touched or acknowledged, and yet leaving her alone like this would be wrong—just wrong, he knew. He usually wanted to ignore emotions, in himself as well as in others, just wait quietly for them to go away. But when you'd lost your whole world—and you had at least some reasonable justification for feeling like it was your fault—it didn't just go away. It followed you. It gnawed your insides late at night. It made the days hollow and blank. It was a feeling he'd felt in some way or other most of his life. He couldn't pretend it away in himself or in Katherine.

He put down his laptop and sat next to her, careful not to touch her. When he did, she started sobbing, as if he'd given her permission. _It doesn't work to lock it away, does it?_ He remembered what it was like when he finally faced his own guilt, when the Irrelevants started dying and he did nothing.

Suddenly she was done and sat pale and silent, a hollow shell of herself. It was oddly natural to scoot awkwardly a little nearer, kiss her forehead, wipe her face, accept her turning into him, draw her in with his arm, rub her back soothingly. He, Harold Finch, did not do these things. Just yesterday the idea of having to comfort a little girl was deeply disquieting. Today it was natural, and he did it.

* * *

All it took was the word _arson._ Reese had contacts in New York City who could tell him about arsonists, and he didn't even have to shoot the guy he went to to make him tell him where he might find his man. Everyone was scared of Elias, but this guy was even more scared of Reese.

Reese walked through the bar like he had a right to be there and into the back room. "Hello, boys," he said to the four men sitting inside. "Cooper in?"

And for a moment, such was his air of belonging, that one of the men actually turned and nodded at another. Then another shot to his feet, and a gun was pointing at him.

"Who are you?" he barked.

Reese looked wounded. "I'm here for Cooper, not you."

"You a cop?"

"Do I look like a cop?"

"What do you want?"

"I told you. Cooper." He smiled at the man who was obviously Cooper, a small, brown-haired young man about his own age. "Just a few questions. What do you know about a fire yesterday?"

He'd thought he might as well get the fighting part over with. When he was done, three of them lay groaning or unconscious on the floor, Cooper was sitting in a chair, and, to his disgust, his jacket was torn. He took it off and sat down, straddling a chair opposite the terrified Cooper.

"Now, Cooper, let's have that chat, shall we?"

* * *

Finch woke up with a mental start. How had he actually fallen asleep? Katherine still leaned against him, and he wondered if she had gone to sleep too. She must be exhausted after all that crying.

His back was aching, but he didn't dare move. He didn't really want to move. There was something too warm and sweet about a child trusting him like this.

_You shouldn't, child. I shouldn't ever have let you get close to me. I'm a danger to everyone I meet. Reese can protect himself, but you are an innocent child, and who will protect you from us?_

When the door slammed, Katherine struggled to sit up. Her hair was disheveled. Her father was considerably more disheveled, and Finch's heart sank. By now he was well enough acquainted with his partner's many, many different states of dishevelment to see immediately that his wounds were slight, but Katherine was staring at him with a white face. He made his voice as unconcerned as possible.

"What happened, Mr. Reese?"

"I had a disagreement with some of Elias's operatives."

_Well, obviously._ He tried to give Katherine a reassuring smile while Reese went to clean up, but she was sitting in her stiff, frightened way again and staring at the bathroom door. He patted her shoulder and went back to his computer. This was Reese's mess to take care of.

"I'm sorry if I scared you," Reese told Katherine, who nodded, looking a little less scared now that most of the blood was gone from her father's face. "We were wrong, Finch. We made a mistake."

"We? You mean me, of course, the source of the information."

Reese scowled at his quibbling over semantics. "It doesn't matter. The point is, Elias isn't after me; he's after you."

He felt as though his whole body flinched. "What?"

"I got it out of one of them after some intense discussion."

_Not again—not again._ He'd gone through this before, three years ago. He'd known when he took up his current profession that he could go through it again, but not at another's expense again—not at the expense of a child, this scared, trusting, book-loving child. "Are you sure, Mr. Reese?"

"Totally sure. He meant to make you more vulnerable by using Katherine to take me out."

He jolted to his feet. "We'll have to leave here, then. We have to split up and go into deeper hiding." He closed his computer rather harder than necessary, swept together the rest of his things on the table. In the background he heard Katherine's stricken voice.

"Split up?"

He stopped abruptly. Did she want to stay with him? "I'm sorry. You'll be the safest with your father. As long as we're together, we're all sitting targets."

"I'm not going to leave you alone to deal with this, Harold," Reese said in a quiet snarl.

"No one said that, Mr. Reese. We'll just have to be more discreet about our association for the time being," he said in as measured a tone as he could get out, and Reese nodded.

They cleared out the suite as quickly as possible. Finch gave Reese one of his secure credit cards and had a quiet conversation with him about communications. Finally Reese took Katherine away down the back stairwell, and Finch was left alone in the suite to check all the corners and the safe (he found one of Katherine's socks—not in the safe), check out of the hotel (it was much more attention-grabbing to leave without checking out), and drive himself to one of his safe houses, an inconspicuous little apartment in the name of Daniel Phelps, a traveling salesman. He went in, inexplicably exhausted, and lowered himself onto the bed to lie and stare at the ceiling, alone again.


	12. The Sweat Of An Honest Man's Brow

_The Sweat Of An Honest Man's Brow_

Katherine was in awe of the house. It was one of Harold's houses, only it could never be traced back to him, because he'd made Reese do all the work, months ago. The little man had planned long ago for the day when they would have to separate for whatever reason. Neither of them had expected it to be because one of them had a daughter.

Reese enjoyed the look on his daughter's face as they went into the safe house. Maybe there was something to be said for Finch's ridiculous standard of living, if it could make a little girl who liked books about princesses gaze about as if she'd been turned into Cinderella. He'd not yet figured out if Finch lived this way because he'd grown up in it and was used to it or because, like Katherine, his life had been just the opposite and he wanted better.

At first Reese thought to ask Katherine if she wanted him to show her around, but then he wondered if that might make her uncomfortable, having an adult hovering around her. As a child, he had liked to explore new places alone, or with a friend, and would have been miffed at an adult talking his hand and marching him around on a tour. Anyway, he realized the moment he put their bags down and stopped moving how dead tired he was. A couple of mostly sleepless nights and one little fight (_With four guys with guns, _his mind reminded him) should be no problem. He'd been doing this for twenty years. Was he getting old?

While Katherine wandered around the house, he took off his shoes and lay down—collapsed—on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. He felt some guilt for leaving Finch alone, unprotected. But there was Katherine. If it came down to it, having to decide whether to protect Harold or Katherine, which would he choose? The partner and friend who'd saved his life and sanity and given him something to live for? Or the little stranger who shared his flesh and blood and was all alone except for him? He knew what Finch would say. He knew Finch would probably go step in front of a bullet to prevent him from choosing him over Katherine. _And that's what makes you so worth saving, Harold._

A movement near the doorway made him look over and see Katherine there, hovering, staring at him with the same concealed terror she'd had when he first came in with his cuts and bruises. She sat down quietly, on a chair across the room, and could not hide her worry.

"Come here," Reese said and made room for her beside him. "Don't be scared. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

Katherine gave him a faint smile.

"Go pick a room. There're tons to choose from."

"Can I— Could I have one next to yours?"

A security-minded child. Well, of course she was thinking of it the way a child felt about sleeping with a stuffed animal, but she was still right. Her room should be close to his.

"Of course. Just pick me a good one."

She smiled again, for real this time. Fro a few minutes he listened to her quiet footsteps going to and fro, and then deep blackness came over him.

* * *

He woke with a start. By the light coming in the windows, he hadn't been asleep for long. He was conscious, in the back of his mind, of having been awakened by a stealthy sound. He could sleep through loud noises, like doors slamming and sirens, but the sound of someone _trying_ to be quiet sent his whole body into alertness. _Always sound like you belong,_ an instructor had told him in training.

He was up the stairs in a few long strides of his stocking feet, scanning rapidly through open doors into bedrooms, his hand on the gun still at his waist. At the second-to-last room on the right, he stopped in the doorway. Katherine was standing by the large bed in the large room, his overnight bag before her, her hand on the zipper.

_Oh, Harold,_ he thought with a flicker of amusement, _why is she my kid and not yours?_

"You have problems with privacy," he said quietly.

Katherine leapt around to face him, her face instantly taking more color than he'd seen in it yet.

"Here, I'll show you," Reese said. Mentally he was thanking his stars that there was nothing in the bag but clothing. No guns, no grenades, no knives. If he proved to her now that what he carried was boring, maybe she'd never know or think to snoop when what he carried wasn't quite so boring. Though maybe teaching her to handle a gun was a good idea. Any child who lived in a household with guns in it ought to learn how to use one—and how not to. For now, though—

"Sometimes curiosity kills the cat. Other times it just means finding a bunch of boring adult things that are none of your business."

Her color had faded, and the fear that had accompanied his calm unpacking seemed to be fading with it. Not completely, because when he offered lunch, she still looked like she expected him to hit her.

"I guess I'll get used to you. You're just like Harold."

Maybe for her that was a compliment, because she brightened a little and gladly looked over the food menu downstairs.

"Can I get a pizza?"

"Again?" he said and instantly regretted it when she backpedaled like she had said something awful.

"It's OK. I can think of something else."

"Doesn't matter to me. I'm having Chinese."

A look of disgust went across her face, and he laughed. Maybe she was right. He'd had Chinese food in China, where they had laughed at him for being unable to use chopsticks, and General Tso's Chicken was not it. But he liked General Tso's Chicken.

When they were nearly done eating, he set down his fork and looked at Katherine. Time for a certain amount of hypocrisy. Or maybe it wasn't actually hypocrisy to deny someone the right to do something you frequently did yourself, when you were an adult and she was a child.

"Katherine, we need to get something straight."

"OK."

"My stuff is mine, and your stuff is yours. That includes conversations. I have a dangerous job. There are things you shouldn't see and hear. I need you to respect those things and not try to hear and see what isn't meant for you. Understand?"

"Yeah." She looked like she wanted to crawl under the table. He hated seeing that in her.

"There's something Joss—Detective Carter—said earlier. She said you'd want to get to know me better and I shouldn't try to stop you. She said you deserve to know your father. I think she's probably right. If you stop snooping, I promise to be available to you. Is that a fair deal?"

Katherine nodded seriously, and he couldn't help smiling at her. He didn't want to ever have this kind of conversation with her again, where she looked expectant of punishment with every word. What kind of people had she lived with, anyway?

Time for the good news. At least he thought _she_ would think it was good news. He wouldn't have, at that age.

"We have an appointment this afternoon."

"Yeah?"

"We're going to the Library."

"Which one?"

"Not one _you've_ been to," he said and could tell by the flash in her eyes that she was sure he was wrong.

"I've been to all of them," she said proudly.

He smirked. "Not this one."

* * *

He woke up with a start again. He was needed to stop doing that. It jolted the neck unpleasantly.

Finch rose stiffly, sat on the edge of his bed for a moment, and finally went out into the kitchen, made a cup of tea and drank it standing up, collected his laptop, and went to the Library.

He and Reese had decided that the Library would be the one place where they could afford to meet. So far it had only been breached digitally, not physically, and the security he had placed around it, he flattered himself, was impenetrable to anyone who wasn't…a time traveler, or a superhero. Katherine would be safe there while Reese was out tracking Elias. But she had to have something to _do_ there, especially something that didn't involve shooting zombies. Once again he thanked heaven she wasn't a sporty child who couldn't sit still, or a five-year old, or a young John Reese.

He walked slowly through his Library, trailing a hand along the bookshelves. When he came to the area he called his office, he stood and stared thoughtfully at the shelf behind his desk. Then he went and got a library cart and started unloading the books from the shelf. This was not the optimal occupation for a man with his back and neck, but he ignored the back and neck and carried on. After a while he took off his jacket and set it neatly on his chair. Each cartload of books he unloaded in precise order onto one of the few empty stacks at the back of the Library, using a small stepladder when necessary. When the shelf was empty, he took a rest, then slowly walked up and down the stacks with the cart, perusing the titles and occasionally pulling one out and setting it, in Dewey Decimal order, on the cart. He had few of what might be called "children's books," but he didn't think Katherine was the kind of child to be confined to _The Babysitters' Club_ or whatever they read these days. He shuddered.

Presently he found himself with quite a nice collection. Gene Stratton-Porter, Agatha Christie, O. Henry, Charlotte Brontë, Jane Austen, Charles Dickens (it was never too early to start on Dickens), Gaston Leroux, Sir Walter Scott, C.S. Lewis, Jean Webster, Montgomery M. Atwater, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Robert Heinlein… He arranged them on the shelves and nodded approvingly to himself before putting his jacket back on, and just in time, because he could hear the lift. They were early.


End file.
